Silence's Reign
by fantasylover53
Summary: A blanket of silence covers the world, sewn by an unseen foe called the Silence. It is a world without noise. The world needs heroes, but how do you defeat something you can't see and everyday is a fight for survival? AU some OC diary chapters. RoLo OC/OC
1. Prologue

_Once upon a time, there was a land. A land, a country, a world, that the Sun shone brightly down upon and peace reigned supreme. And once upon a time, in this world, the sound of cars, bikes, trains, even nature, was heard._

_That land was never still, never resting. The bright neon lights of downtown would always shine, and even the slums of New York were alive with homeless people. Homeless mutants. In that world, nothing was ever still._

_It's a pity that the world we live in now isn't that world. Isn't the world where the Sun shines, where children laugh and grow. It's a pity that our world... that this world **used** to be **that** world._

_This cold world we live in now, hiding in fog-bound alleyways and abandoned houses, is **nothing** like that world. In this world, there is no sunlight, or laughter, or peace._

_In this world, every day is a fight for survival under Silence's Reign._

_My name is Jaclyn Vale, and this is my story._

I suppose my life began simply enough. A house, a mother, a father. I distantly remember even owning a dog, or a cat and I know for certain that even back then, I had a fond spot in my heart for my three pet goldfish.

Now, I find it a source of cold amusement that I named them simple names such as Fred, Daphne and Scooby. Heh, I guess I liked Scooby Doo back then.

God, I'd kill someone to be able to watch even the most lame of Scooby Doo episodes right now. A reason to laugh... Pity there's only the broken TV in the corner of the alley with it's wires half scattered over burnt concrete that smells like old blood and piss.

Well, if I'm going to write my life story down for anyone who finds it to read, I better describe myself.

First of all, my name is Jaclyn Rufina Vale, but everyone calls me Jay. Or Wolfclaw, as my codename goes. Either one works. I have long orange hair that used to hang half-way down my back and was impossible to tame. Now, it frames my face down to my shoulders, scruffy. Let it be known that you should always, _always_ go to the hairdressers before letting your grandfather cut your hair for you.

My eyes are a vivid green, and honestly I'm still surprised that they are vivid even now, in this wasteland of a world we live in. Others eyes are dull, lifeless.

Boys once said I had a figure to drool after for eternity, girls were jealous. Now, even with my healing factor, I'm slightly underweight and I'm sure as hell that on a bad day when the fogs clear, you can see my ribs.

My usual attire used to consist daily of the following: denim jeans, white singlet, leather jacket, steel toed boots. Guess I liked Uncle Logan's style. Now my jeans are ripped at the knees and everyday I get another rip to add to the collection. My singlet's more grey and dirty, and my jacket is dirty but intact- I take it off and keep it in a tightly wrapped plastic bag when I have to fight. My boots are worn, but they fit thank god, and they'll do for day to day activities.

That, is me.

My mutations are, being related to both the infamous Wolverine and Sabretooth, and I like to think by being Canadian, thus: healing factor, claws that extend from my fingernails and are adamantium (I just _love_ William Stryker), heightened senses and through some gene defect, my secondary mutation is telekinesis. And to top that wonderful list off, I'm a class 5 mutant. Fun, eh?

Anyway, back to my dismal life story.

To cut a long story short, (believe me, a _**very**_ long one) I'll just say this, a brief summarised version of my life:

My father sold me out to William Stryker and the Weapon X program after I manifested claws and nearly shredded a teenage girl to bits at school when I was fourteen. When I was eighteen, dear ol' Willy bonded adamantium to my skeleton. Thing is, I did a Logan and ran, where, lo and behold, I ran into Wolverine himself. Joined the X-Men, got an education. I was about to start a job cage fighting when this all began, and I'm sure that I'll be able to... persuade my, ahem, contact, into _giving_ the job to me again when this is all over.

...

I refuse to say that it'll never be over. Ever. That defies the laws of being an X-Man. Or, in my case, X-Woman.

I'm now twenty three, writing this on scraps of paper in an old diary I found in an abandoned newsagent, living with the following mutants: Wolverine, Sabretooth, Storm, Jubilee, Rogue, Gambit and Scythe, Victor's mate. And also, four of these are my relatives.

Wolverine is my four times great uncle, Sabretooth my four times great-grandfather. Storm, my aunt (she's married to Logan) and Scythe (Valeria, she still hasn't told anyone but Granddad her last name) is married to Victor.

Guess I'll get married one day too. Hopefully, you... never know with the world at the moment. Maybe to Carl, if I ever see him again. God, I hope I do...

We're living on the streets, in the shadows, dodging Silence's weapons and soldiers when we see them. The other X-Men are the same- I know for a fact that Nightcrawler, Colossus, Shadowcat, Pheonix and Cyclops are somewhere nearby.

But the problem is, more often than not, we can't spot the spies. Why?

Because the spies all around us is the Silence, the barrier of no noise that coats almost the entire world. Some say Silence himself cast it over us. If he did, I blame him for the knowledge that our own voices are too loud for even us to stand sometimes.

There's no background noise. Not even a single car or train or bird or owl hooting or... or... _anything_.

And this is how it all began...

* * *

><p>Yet another AU. I've been toying with the idea of writing a book named Silence's Reign, but for now I'm adapting the possible storyline I would use when I actually did into X-Men. Takes place after X2, with some elements of X3 and comics thrown in. Please, read and review. If anyone has any ideas for the story, message me, I wrote this off the top of my head just now. And plus, if anyone has any actual ideas for the book that I will, WILL write one day, please, share. I have none in the idea bank that is my imagination. All I know that it has to involve Jay, some other characters that I haven't thought of yet, and lots of fog and silence. Maybe in the medieval period... or a fantasy land... *gets to thinking*<p> 


	2. Doubts and Pancakes

The alarm clock fell to the floor with a clang, the fragile plastic at the back shattering under the force of the blow. Rolling over with a groan, Jay Vale stared aimlessly at her bedroom ceiling, dappled in sunlight from her window.

"God..." she groaned out loud to herself. "I **hate** Mondays."

Sitting up in bed, she swung her feet to the wooden floor, jerking them back with a surprised yelp as the coldness of the wood made her feet tingle. Huddled up in her warm covers, she glared accusingly down at the innocent looking wood.

"You hate me too," she growled, letting her adamantium claws extend, "I swear to God you do."

Opting to take the easy way out of her problem, she closed her green eyes, a frown creasing her forehead as she concentrated. From the bathroom where she'd discarded them the night before, her socks floated over, landing neatly next to her on the rumpled bed sheet.

Opening her eyes, she smiled mockingly at the floor, pulling on her socks. "Can't get me now!"

Getting to her feet, she ambled towards the bathroom, intent on having a warm shower when she noticed the time on the broken alarm clock.

Her eyes growing wide, Jay rushed into action.

Three minutes later, she was running down the stairs, nearly barrelling into fellow students on her way, hair whipping behind her. Leaping the final three, she sprinted full on to the kitchen, skidding to a halt on the lino.

Brushing her orange hair irritably out of her eyes, the nineteen year old feral trained her eyes on the plate of pancakes in the middle of the counter. "I didn't miss any did I?"

"Nope, but you almost did."

Jay turned around and gave her uncle a bright smile. "You save some for me?"

Logan narrowed his eyes at her playfully. "One more word pup," he mock growled, "and soon people will begin to think I'm a big softie."

"But you are!"

"Am not. Eat."

"Aha!" Jay exclaimed triumphantly, snatching the plate stacked to the brim with pancakes he handed her. "So you did save some for me!"

Logan rolled his eyes. "**_Only_** because I knew that you would give me hell later on if I didn't. Go on, eat, or I'll tell yer granddaddy that ya ain't eatin' properly... and I'll tell 'im ya asked fer a haircut."

Spurred on by the terrifying prospect of having to deal with an irate Victor Creed, **_especially_** one who was going to cut her hair, Jay wasted no time in wolfing down her pancakes.

* * *

><p>"Are you going somewhere?"<p>

A smirk playing across his lips, Logan turned around to face his fiancé, who was staring in mock accusation at him. "Yeah," he teased her, "out."

"Without me?" Ororo smirked at him. "I doubt it- besides, you have a Danger Room session to attend today." Her eyes, once devilish, grew doubtful. "With Victor. Logan... you are sure-"

"'Ro." Holding up a hand to stop her from continuing, Logan hooked the other around her waist, drawing her closer so that her head rested on his chest. "I trust him," he murmured into her hair, "and if he betrays the X-Men I'll help ya kick him out."

Pulling away slightly so she could look up at him, Ororo frowned. "He's your brother... I don't want you to have to choose."

Logan sighed heavily at the tense silence that fell, his inner conflict visible on his face as he buried his head in her neck. "He won't make me choose," he muttered, "at least... I hope he won't."

Ororo sighed as well, her hands gently caressing his back as the sunlight made the cars in the garage shine.

* * *

><p>Victor Creed was waiting. Impatiently.<p>

Tapping his nails against the wooden banister rhythmically, his ice blue eyes scanned over the milling crowd of students in the foyer.

No Jimmy.

Growling, he was about to take the steps down to hunt out his brother, when someone's hand touched his shoulder. Whirling around, he bared his teeth at the offender, feeling particularly stupid doing so as Valeria, the newest resident of the mansion and the only one with the power of premonition, raised an eyebrow at him.

"Waiting for your brother?" She asked him, her voice smooth and cultured, the British accent laced into her words.

"Yeah," Victor grumbled, sheathing his claws and eyeing her angrily. "Ya should know better than ta sneak up on a guy like that."

Valeria smiled, the expression lightening her face as her deep blue eyes scanned his own. "Yes well, maybe I like surprising people." Tossing a strand of brown hair out of her eyes with a recently manicured hand, she pursed her lips at him. "Take things slow, nothing will be the same as it was for a while now," she muttered quietly and after a moment's silence, "Your brother trusts you, you know. But after how you helped Stryker, it's no wonder that he can't help but doubt you."

Huffing, Victor regarded the banister with anger burning in his eyes. "I know, it's everyone else who ain't trusting me enough ta believe that I ain't gonna help the bastard or Magneto again."

"You seem to forget that they have good reason not to," Valeria commented, her comment earning her a sharp look. Sighing, she relented. "Look, I'm not saying that it'll be easy, but I can tell that one day they all will. Trust me."

"I don't. And you don't trust me either."

"Would I be standing here, talking to you, if I didn't?"

Victor paused at that, his gaze fixed on her face intently, and she held it steadily, not blinking.

"Your brother is coming from the garage now," she said, still holding his stare, "I suggest you meet up with him."

Victor scowled at her as she passed him, his gaze unwillingly resting on her ass she walked down the stairs. "Yeah yeah frail. I get the picture."

Valeria looked at him over her shoulder, a smirk playing on her lips. "Oh, and by the way, you might be in for torture this Danger Room session. Logan, it seems, has remembered something about his once favourite thing. I do believe it was something about pine cones?"

As she walked away, Victor swore.


End file.
